ome were asleep in their
beds after it: not a chimney smoked. But Malcolm seemed to have in his
own single being life and joy enough for a world: such an intense
consciousness of bliss burned within him that in the sightless,
motionless village he seemed to himself to stand like an altar blazing
in the midst of desert Carnac. But he was not the only one awake: on the
threshold of Peter's cottage sat his little Phemy, trying to polish a
bit of serpentine marble upon the doorstep with the help of water, which
stood by her side in a broken tea-cup. She lifted her sweet gray eyes
and smiled him a welcome.

"Are ye up a'ready, Phemy?" he said.

"I haena been doon yet," she answered, "My mither was oot last nicht wi'
the boat, an' Auntie Jinse was wi' the bairn, an' sae I cud du as I
likit."

"An' what did ye like, Phemy?"

"A'body kens what I like," answered the child: "I was oot an' aboot a'
nicht. An' eh, Ma'colm! I hed a vision."

"What was that, Phemy?"

"I was upo' the tap o' the Nose jist as the sun rase, luikin' aboot me,
an' awa' upo' the Boar's Tail I saw twa angels sayin' their prayers. Nae
doobt they war prayin' for the haill warl' i' the quaiet o' the mornin'
afore the din begun. May be ane o' them was that auld priest wi' the
lang name i' the buik o' Genesis, 'at hed naither father nor mither,
puir man!--him 'at gaed aboot blissin' fowk."

Malcolm thought he might take his own time to set the child right, and
asked her to go and tell her father that he wanted to see him. In a few
minutes Blue Peter appeared, rubbing his eyes--one of the dead called
too early from the tomb of sleep.

"Freen' Peter," said Malcolm, "I'm gaein' to speak oot the day."

Peter woke up. "Weel," he said, "I _am_ glaid o' that, Ma'colm--I beg
yer pardon, my lord, I sud say.--Annie!"

"Haud a quaiet sough, man. I wadna hae 't come oot at Scaurnose first.
I'm come noo 'cause I want ye to stan' by me."

"I wull that, my lord."

"Weel, gang an' gether yer boat's crew, an' fess them doon to the cove,
an' I'll tell them, an' maybe they'll stan' by me as weel."

"There's little fear o' that, gien I ken my men," answered Peter, and
went off, rather less than half clothed, the sun burning hot upon his
back, through the sleeping village to call them, while Malcolm went and
waited beside the dinghy.

At length six men in a body, and one lagging behind, appeared coming
down the winding path, all but Peter no doubt wondering why they